


Another Peaceful Havens Sunday

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the events of “The Suburbia Affair,” THRUSH attempted to cause discord in Peaceful Havens by making the residents irritable and argumentative.  Napoleon and Illya found out the hard way that they were not immune–-nor are they able to keep from falling under the influence again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Peaceful Havens Sunday

Knowing a situation and being able to do something about it were too very different things, Napoleon realized. Simply knowing that THRUSH was able to get people irritated and argumentative at each other was one thing; trying to resist the influence of it was another. And that was why the American couldn’t help but sneer with derision at the cooking project his Russian partner was working on.

“…Would you mind telling me what _that_ is supposed to be?”

Illya caught the tone in Napoleon’s voice and slowly raised his gaze from the glass mixing bowl full of orange batter to meet Napoleon’s.

“It was _supposed_ to be a soufflé,” he replied, pointedly. “But _someone_ forgot to get the eggs. So now, I am improvising. I shall let you know what it is when I have half an idea of that myself.”

“Don’t bother going through that mental strain; I think I’ll skip dessert tonight,” Napoleon said, as he turned to leave. 

“Oh? Well, fine. Go right ahead,” Illya scoffed. “You could certainly benefit from foregoing dessert.”

Napoleon turned back to face Illya ever so slowly upon hearing the insult.

“…Are you implying--?”

“Oh, Napoleon, you know me. I never _imply_ anything.”

“ _Ha_! Of course! Because tact isn’t something you’d know about, is it? Well let me tell you something—neither is cooking!”

“My culinary skills were enough to keep myself fed before I met you, thank you very much!” Illya countered.

“Oh, well _that_ explains why you were scrawny as a rail when I first met you!” Napoleon said, through a laugh.

“I actually believe in watching my figure,” Illya returned. “Perhaps you ought to try it sometime!”

“Oh, I expect to lose a lot of weight as long as _you’re_ in charge of the cooking!” Napoleon scoffed. “The only one of us who ate well last night—whatever dinner was—was the mouse!”

“You would do well to—what mouse?”

“The little creature of the rodent variety that scurried around the kitchen floor last night, ate a few crumbs of whatever-that-was you made, and ran right back under the floorboards to suffer in agony!”

Illya cursed and began to look for knotholes in the floor.

“Oh, playing exterminator now, are you?” Napoleon goaded. “Great—just lay out more of your next cooking experiment; I’m sure that’ll finish it off for good!”

“Shut up and make yourself useful!” Illya quipped. “Go to the store and get me a mousetrap or two!”

“Are you going to be that fastidious when we’re only going to be here until we find Dr. Rutter?” Napoleon said, rolling his eyes. “Let the mouse be someone else’s problem; we’ve got better things to do!”

“You stubborn ox!” Illya fumed. “Never mind that I am trying to stop that diseased, flea-ridden pest from running rampant around the food that we both intend to put into our mouths! …Oh, but of course—you do not intend to eat anything that I prepare! Fine; I shall not subject you to such tortures!”

He threw the mixing bowl down; the glass shattering into pieces as it landed.

Neither of the two agents said a word as they stared at the glass and batter littering the kitchen floor; the sound and sight seemed to be snapping them out of whatever it was THRUSH had been trying to do.

“ _Bozhe moy_ …” Illya whispered, covering his mouth with his hand. “What is happening to me…?”

“THRUSH,” Napoleon said, quietly. “We’re doing it again, Illya.”

Illya shook his head.

“Outbursts such as these are not characteristic of me,” he said, quietly. “I am sorry, Napoleon; forgive me.”

His face burning bright red, Illya squatted down and began to pick up the larger chunks of glass. He gave a slight start as Napoleon squatted down beside him, giving the Russian’s shoulder a quick squeeze before helping him pick up the larger shards. The American let out a quiet sigh.

“I’m sorry, too, Illya,” he said. “I know we rib each other all the time, but… that wasn’t ribbing, what I was doing a moment ago. We’ve been partners since 1960, and we’ve always gotten along great. We can’t let THRUSH change that now.”

“It would seem that is easier said than done,” Illya said, still quietly. “Even knowing what was happening, we fell to its influence again.”

“So, we’ll keep trying to fight it,” Napoleon said. “But, Illya?”

“ _Da_?”

“During the time I’ve known you, you’ve pulled me out of the proverbial fire more times than I can even count.”

“As you have likewise done for me, Napoleon.”

“Of course. But this flame is growing higher. Our options—”

“—Are limited,” Illya finished. “Da, I know. We must focus on finding Dr. Rutter and just hope that whatever burns we sustain are ones we can recover from.”

“I’m sure they will be, _Tovarisch_.”

Illya did manage a flicker of a smile.

“You go on, Napoleon; I will clean this up.”

“Well, actually, I do have someplace to go…”

“You have an idea about where to find Dr. Rutter?” Illya asked.

“No, but I think I’ll go get that mousetrap,” the American said. “I’ll be back in a little bit; keep an eye out while I’m gone.”

“Of course. And you keep an eye out, as well.”

Napoleon gave him a wan smile and nodded, throwing the glass shards he had picked up into the trash and heading out the door. He stopped to exhale for a moment, reflecting on what had happened before heading to the car.

One thing was for certain—in addition to finding Dr. Rutter, they had to preserve their partnership at all costs. As an agent, perhaps it was unprofessional to treat their nearly seven-year partnership with the same importance as their mission objective, but Napoleon knew he couldn’t think otherwise.

After all, he wasn’t about to allow THRUSH to destroy what was easily the best thing he had going for him.

Not today. Not now. Not ever.


End file.
